Saved PLEASE REVIEW!
by Madison Graves1
Summary: JAMIE STRUGGLES AT A DRUG-REHABILITATING HOSPITAL FOR TEENS. Group therapy, romance, etc... are in store for him. This is a re-submission (looking for more advice) PLEASE REVIEW!


Chapter 1:  
Group Isolation  
  
Jaime clamped the cold leather seat with his sweaty fingers, slumping down and outstretching his legs into the center of the body-hugging, rigid circle. He could feel the eyes of the fellow teenagers piercing into him. He felt exposed, no partition or table in front of him, only air separating him from the pool of strangers. "Ok," a female counselor sitting across from him initiated. "As you may have noticed… we have a new group member today… Jaime." She nodded in his direction. ." Jaime rose from his brooding slump and gazed up at the strangers, all about sixteen to eighteen. Jaime was seventeen. He sarcastically waved at the ring of faces, hinting at a smile.  
  
"Hello," he said, overly annunciating in a jocular manner, yet somehow managing to contain himself from laughing.  
  
"Hi," the group replied, some smiling and others indifferently observing. He apprehensively folded his arms across his chest and pulled his legs inward, trying not to reveal his discomfort and anxiety.   
  
"To open up this group session, why don't you all introduce yourselves and share one good thing and one bad thing that is on your mind," the counselor suggested, her hands calmly clasped together in her lap. The group did not respond with much enthusiasm, but the counselor didn't appear surprised or disappointed.   
  
"My name is June…" a girl to the left of the counselor started, hiding behind dangling strands of auburn hair and baggy clothes. "I guess a bad thing is – that it's still hard to get from day to day without what I'm used to making me feel normal, but a good thing is – I feel like things are, nonetheless, getting better for me…" she quietly rambled, but didn't sound nervous, only contemplative. Jaime studied her pink lips and deep brown eyes, and she gazed up toward him as the next person began to speak – he quickly turned away. But he could see her in the corner of his eyes, stealing glances at him occasionally. The flow of discussion continued – and everyone shared profound things and trivial things – but all things that were good or bad. Jaime, for the most part, couldn't remember the details – but he could remember June's sensitive reactions to them. As the voices became louder, gradually climbing towards him, he felt intense heat embrace his body and his hands began to tremble. He grasped onto the arms of his chair for a sense of stability and control. What would he say? Would he make fun, or simply "pass"? Would he just act natural, what was natural? How could he be natural in such an unnatural setting? Such uncertainty… he didn't like it.   
  
Finally, it was his turn. "I'm Jaime…" he mumbled, and then he hesitated before continuing. He began to tap his foot against the dull carpet and rub his hands together, "The bad thing is – it seems that drugs aren't allowed, and that was the only good thing about my life… and the good thing is – well, I guess there isn't much of a good thing right now, is there?" His words were wobbly and tired, but undoubtedly bitter. The counselor's eyes looked concerned, yet not surprised – she never acted surprised. She didn't encourage more from him. The rest of the session dragged on, and emotions were poured out – some people cried and others just listened tentatively. And at the end, they held hands as the counselor raddled off a prayer. Everybody bowed his or her head except Jaime and June. She raised her eyebrow and gave him an apologetic look.   
  
After they broke, Jaime rushed toward her as she started to leave.  
  
"June?" he sighed, "That's a pretty name."   
  
"That's what everybody seems to think," she answered, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.   
  
"You know," he began, "I was lying when I said there wasn't anything good about being here…"   
  
"I'll see you next time," she replied, a playful smile sliding across her face. Her voice drifted off as she walked with the other girls to their separate building.   
  
"Yeah, I'll see you!" He yelled back, and although she didn't slow down or look back at him, he knew that she had heard.   
  
He had survived three days of detox, a session of group therapy, and three somber meals in a dismal cafeteria where nobody talked very much – he didn't mind that part. The evening neared and all he wanted to do was sleep – forget about his cravings and troublesome memories of the outside world, and wake up to a new group session to see June's soft face. It became routine to grab a seat next to her, and she would always speak first – Jaime, second. The few words they exchanged before and after were all – but he looked forward to them with great anticipation, for it was the only thing to look forward to. He kept his words during the group sessions at a minimal, saying just enough to get by. The meal times, the bed times, the wake up times, the free time… became the usual. He started to listen during group and found it comforting to hear about others' stories, because he could relate to them – however, he still stayed quiet. From the beginning, he had made a pact with himself not to break down or become weak – but to tough it out – he had done it all his life, and it would be a shame to fail now.   
  
One session, the same female counselor opened with a different topic.  
  
"Today, I would like each of you to share with us a relationship that you wish were different." As usual, June started.  
  
"I guess I would like to change the relationship with my mom. I mean, we never get along - it's like we're always on different pages," she hesitated, tears emerging on the rims of her eyes, "It's almost like… she wants me to hate my dad, because she hates him – but I don't, and so that drives a huge wedge between us."   
  
"Have you told your mom that you wish things were different?" The counselor questioned.  
  
"Kind of – but she never listens to me… but I guess I never listen to her either."   
  
"Well, it's very good to look at our own part because then we can approach situations differently and fairly. June, I do believe that you have the power to change that relationship." June was very broken and suddenly a crystal clear teardrop slid down her cheek and Jaime cupped his hand over her hand. A few seconds passed.  
  
"Jaime, how about you?" The counselor continued. Jaime seemed surprised; he had been wrapped up in June. He pulled his hand away and glared down at the carpet.   
  
"I don't know…" he muttered, "Can you skip me?"  
  
"Jaime…" the counselor's tone suddenly took a serious shift. "You've been avoiding talking for a while now, and you can't get off that easily. Can you think real deep for me? I'm sure there's a relationship you'd like to change…"   
  
"Yes, with Britney Spears…" he nervously laughed. A few giggles across the circle followed, and the counselor gave him a hard stare.   
  
"What relationship do you have with Britney Spears?" Someone mumbled.  
  
"No relationship, we're perfect strangers. But I sincerely would like to change that!" June sighed and seemed frustrated at his remark. So Jaime thought for a few minutes and then decided to give in, because the counselor wasn't moving on to the next person. "I guess – I'd like to change the relationship with my mom…" his words were unsure and melancholy, and his last word floated upward, as though he was asking a question. He didn't elaborate. June gave him an understanding look and he acknowledged it.   
  
"And why is that?" The counselor asked kindly.   
  
"Uh…" his breathing started to grow louder and he could feel his heart fiercely pounding his aching chest. He gripped the arms of the chair and attempted to maintain control and keep from visibly shaking. "I don't think I ever really knew her…" he started, speaking as though he was asking a question again. "I think…" he began again, a little more assertive and determined, "I think that she kind of departed… when I was little… mentally at least…"   
  
"People can change, Jaime…" the counselor reassured, "I see it happen each day."  
  
"Maybe in hell… she died," Jaime replied casually, as though he was in full acceptance of the fact and had been for years.   
  
"I'm sorry," she quickly replied, "would you like to talk about it?"  
  
"You know?" Jaime shouted bitterly, "I'm really tired of talking." He bit his lip and gripped the chair arms even tighter, trying to resist showing the turmoil that was churning within. June observed in curiosity and wonder. She was captivated by him, and wasn't trying to hide it.   
  
"Okay," the counselor surrendered, and like always – the flow of discussion continued. Like always. He almost felt abandoned each time the counselor gave up on him. Inside, though, he tried to deny that he yearned for her attention – but down deep, he knew he did.   
  
That night, his roommate, David Walker, a blond haired boy of about Jaime's stature, tried to start a conversation – for they usually were always silent in the room.   
  
"You know…" he said, "It really does help to talk about stuff in group…"  
  
"I figured you'd feel that way… you seem to always find something to share," Jaime was trying to turn the subject around to David, but was unsuccessful.  
  
"I know it doesn't make sense to you right now… but you know, maybe you should try it sometime."  
  
"Thanks," Jaime retorted sarcastically, "but I can handle myself… I have no desire to become a self-help freak like you all; no offense." David then solemnly reverted to the magazine he had been reading and Jaime let out a disappointed breath as though David, too, had let him down – just like the counselor – or had he let his own self down?   
  
  
That night, Jaime twisted and turned in his sleep, until he finally jolted upward, drenched in sweat and confused to his surroundings. He panted and ran his fingers through his dark, spiked hair. He remembered where he was and desperately threw the blanket off of his body and rubbed his eyes. He felt as though he was suffocating – no drugs or alcohol to turn to, no June to turn to, no friends… alone… he felt like he was reaching and reaching for something: but what, exactly? How did the others survive here? He resisted from answering and tried to go back to sleep.   
  
  
  
  
Madison Graves  
MadisonGraves@yahoo.com 


End file.
